Diary Entry: The Weight of Humanity, A Coruña, Spain – Day 3 (Also Shared in Adventure & Sailing)

Courage, standing before me.

I can’t get them out of my mind.

A young couple, no older than 30, standing just ahead of me at the gate. She is frail, bald, leaning into him for support. I can hear her chemo pump. He carries her bags, holds her hand, guides her gently through the gangway. A simple act of love, of devotion. And yet, it holds the weight of a thousand unspoken battles.

It’s a sight I know too well, and a sound that is a trigger.

Before my mind can even process, my body reacts. A flood of emotions surges through me—sharp, tender, impossible to name all at once. Grief and gratitude. Protection and pain. A storm I have been weathering for nearly a decade.

I wanted this to be a travel journal. Something lighthearted. Something that captures the beauty of new places, the thrill of adventure, the simple joy of being in motion. Day 3 in A Coruña - the fun version. But that’s not where I am right now. And in the spirit of authenticity, I have to acknowledge that we are not always in control—not of our pen, not of our emotions, not of the relentless way life reminds us of the things we are still healing from.

So I write. Furiously. On my boarding pass.

Boarding pass poetry, right?

Except this doesn’t feel like poetry. It feels like injustice. A cruel contrast, watching this young woman, with all the quiet resilience of someone who never asked to be strong, moving forward—while others around her board this flight with the ease of routine, adventure, or business as usual.

I can’t help but wonder—when will we cure this? How many more will have to hold back tears in airport terminals, swallow their fear in sterile waiting rooms, trade their youthful energy for the exhaustion of mere survival?

I think about how much of our ambition is aimed at the stars—how we dream of walking on Mars, of space tourism, of life beyond Earth. And yet, here, in the confines of our hospitals and homes, we are still waging wars against the very things that strip us of time, of certainty, of choice.

Why do we dream so much about other worlds when we haven’t yet mastered how to take care of each other in this one?

I try not to be angry. I really do. But my body remembers. It remembers the side effects of steroids, the way the human spirit fights even when the body is exhausted. It remembers the battle I fought, the one I have spent years healing from, letting go of—only to be reminded, again and again, that it will always be a part of me.

I wish I could say something to her. To them. But what do you say to someone who already knows?

So instead, I hold this moment. I send my silent wish into the universe:

I wish you time. I wish you healing. I wish you peace. I wish you a love so steady, so unwavering, that it carries you through the hardest days.

You've got this, sweet girl. Just a few more steps. Soon, you can sit and rest.